ABCD: Astronauts, Beaches, Castaways, and Djinn
by Susan M. M
Summary: What would happen if Tony Nelson's space capsule had landed on a different island? Or if Gilligan found Jeannie's bottle? AU
1. Nelson's Island

**Standard Fanfic Disclaimer **that wouldn't last ten seconds in a court of law: these aren't my characters. I'm just borrowing them for um, er, uh, typing practice. Yeah, that's it, typing practice. I'm not trying to steal copyrighted material from Sherwood Schultz, CBS, Sidney Sheldon, NBC, or anyone else. Just borrowing: all characters will be returned unharmed, or at the very least, suitably bandaged. Originally published in the fanzine Diamonds and Dynamite#2, from Agent with Style Press.

**A, B, C, D: Astronauts, Beaches, Castaways, and Djinn**

by Susan M. M.

_I Dream of Jeannie/Gilligan's Island_

dedicated to G. L. Peabody, who gave me the idea

**Part I: Nelson's Island**

The space capsule plummeted into the ocean. The waves tossed it to and fro, until its inhabitant - who'd handled three Gs without complaining - was seasick. Eventually, the waves pushed the capsule up onto a deserted tropical island.

Well, almost deserted.

* * *

"Thanks for coming with me, Gilligan," Mary Ann Summers said. The attractive brunette wore blue shorts and a red gingham blouse. "I always get nervous gathering crabs."

Gilligan was scared of being pinched by the crabs, too, but he was more frightened of admitting he was scared to Mary Ann than he was of the crabs. He told her truthfully, "I'm glad to help you, Mary Ann." He considered any excuse to spend time with Mary Ann a good one.

"And gladder to eat my crab cakes," she teased.

"Well, you do bake really good crab cakes," he agreed. Gilligan was a scrawny fellow, in his late twenties but looking younger. His uncombed dark hair was covered by a white sailor's cap.

"It'll be a nice change from fried bananas and smoked fish," Mary Ann said as they walked to the lagoon. "Oh, my goodness, what is that?!"

Mary Ann and Gilligan stopped and stared. A silver capsule lay on the beach.

"It's a space capsule!" Gilligan began to run toward it.

Mary Ann quickly followed after him. "Do you think there's anyone in there, or is it just a drone?"

"I don't know." Gilligan banged on the capsule with his fists. "Hey, anybody in there?"

"Gilligan! If there is someone in there, you're going to deafen them," Mary Ann scolded. "Hello? Is anyone in there?" She laid her ear against the capsule. "I think I hear something!"

Both fell silent, listening intently.

"There is someone in there!" Gilligan scrambled to find the capsule door. He found the handle and tugged. "It's stuck." He pulled harder.

The door opened. Gilligan fell backwards. He landed on his rump in the sand. An astronaut started to climb out of the capsule. Mary Ann reached out a hand to help him out.

The astronaut climbed out and removed his helmet. He took a deep breath. After hours of breathing recycled air, the tangy salt breeze along the beach was wonderful.

"Thank you, miss. You're a sight for sore eyes - and a whole lot prettier than the Navy rescue team I was expecting."

"I'm Mary Ann Summers," she introduced herself. She stuck her hand out to shake his.

"Captain Tony Nelson." He started to take her delicate hand in the glove of his space suit. He stopped, removed the thick, heavy glove, then shook her hand.

"And I'm Gilligan," Captain Nelson heard a voice behind him say. He turned around and saw a dark-haired young man in a red shirt and pale blue pants brushing sand off his clothes.

"Sorry, didn't see you there. This helmet is worse than a cart-horse wearing blinders."

"Wow, a real astronaut on our island," Gilligan marveled.

"Uh, by the way, where are we?" Captain Nelson looked around at the lagoon and the palm trees. "Hawaii? Santa Catalina? The Florida Keys?"

"We're on an island in the South Pacific, somewhere between Hawaii and the Marquesas," Gilligan told him.

"Which island? What's its name?"

"Well, we never got around to giving it a name," Mary Ann confessed.

"Is it a private island?" Captain Nelson asked.

"Not exactly." Gilligan stretched out the first word.

"We're shipwrecked," Mary Ann told him. "Oh, dear, and now you're shipwrecked, too."

"Rocket-wrecked," Gilligan corrected her.

Captain Nelson shook his head. "NASA's been tracking me all the way down. There'll be someone here to fetch me in a matter of hours."

"Gilligan, do you hear that? We're finally going to be rescued!" Mary Ann grabbed Captain Nelson, jumping up and down for sheer joy.

"How long have you been here?" Captain Nelson put a hand on her shoulder in a feeble attempt to calm her down.

"Over a year," Gilligan said.

"A year?"

"Closer to a year and a half," Mary Ann said. "C'mon, we've got to tell the others."

"Others? How many people are shipwrecked here?" Captain Nelson asked.

"Seven of us: the Skipper, me, Mary Ann, " Gilligan pointed first at himself, then at her, "the Professor, Ginger, and Mr. and Mrs. Howell."

* * *

When the _U.S.S. Kitty Hawk_ arrived three hours later, Mary Ann and actress Ginger Grant were taking turns fussing over Captain Nelson, feeding him coconut cream pie.

"I'm Oliver Gillespie, captain of the _Kitty Hawk_. It's an honor to meet you, Captain Nelson." A middle-aged man in dress whites shook hands with the astronaut. "Now, did you rescue the survivors of the _Minnow_, or did they rescue you?"

"A bit of both, I think. Let me introduce you," Captain Nelson offered.

"No need to introduce me. I remember this sea dog from when he was just a pup," declared a big, white-haired man.

"Chief Grumby?" Gillespie asked in amazement. "You were on the _Minnow_?"

"On her? I owned her. Bought her after I retired from the Navy," Jonas Grumby, skipper of the late _Minnow_ said. "Good to see you again, sir."

"Master Chief Grumby and I served together on the _Valley Forge_," Gillespie explained to the sailors who'd accompanied him.

"This here's my little buddy, Gilligan." The Skipper clapped an arm around the smaller man's shoulder.

"He helped rescue me," Captain Nelson added. "And this lovely lady is my other rescuer, Mary Ann Summers."

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Summers. And this lady needs no introduction." Captain Gillespie smiled at a beautiful redhead, somewhat incongruously dressed in a silk evening gown. "Ginger Grant. I've been a fan for years."

"It's always wonderful to meet one of my fans, especially one who's going to take us back to civilization," Ginger gushed.

"This is Roy Hinkley," Captain Nelson introduced, "and Mr. and Mrs. Howell."

"Thurston Howell the Third." An older man in a suit stepped forward to shake Captain Gillespie's hand. "When we get back to your ship, Captain, would it be possible for me to call my broker?"

"I'll see what we can do." Captain Gillespie nodded politely to Mrs. Howell. "Ma'am."

* * *

It took three trips to get everyone's personal belongings onto the ship. All the _Minnow_ passengers had been planning to have gone to the airport immediately after their three-hour cruise, and thus had all their luggage with them. After more than a year on a deserted island, even the stark amenities of an aircraft carrier - hot water, electricity, roast beef sandwiches - seemed like absolute luxury to the castaways.

Four hours later, they docked at Pearl Harbor, where the media went wild.

Within days, high school students across the nation who had no idea what their own teachers' first names were knew that former high school science teacher Roy Hinkley's nickname was the Professor. Thurston Howell III achieved his life-long dream of making the front page of the _Wall Street Journal. _Ginger Grant was hired to play Jane in a remake of _Tarzan_, despite the fact the script hadn't been written yet, nor an actor for Tarzan hired. The Skipper and Gilligan were invited to become the spokesmen for a chain of seafood restaurants. Captain Nelson and Mary Ann became the darlings of the talk show circuit. Ginger was just a smidgen vexed that Mary Ann was getting more publicity than she was. The paparazzi tried to promote a romance between the astronaut and "the girl who rescued him," but Captain Nelson's fiancée soon put a stop to that.

Captain Tony Nelson married General Stone's daughter, Melissa. There were seven extra guests at the wedding.

Captain Roger Healey dated Ginger Grant off-and-on. Neither was willing to settle down, he being committed to his playboy lifestyle and she to her career in Hollywood.

The Skipper took the insurance money from the _Minnow_ and bought a new boat. The _S.S. Minnow II_ was homeported out of Cocoa Beach. Although often chartered as a fishing boat, her specialty was taking passengers out on the water to watch the rockets launch.

NASA was so impressed with the Professor's creativity and his ability to think outside the box that they hired him.

Thurston Howell III and his wife Eunice Wentworth Howell were so impressed with - and grateful to - NASA that they joined the L5 Society. They donated generously to space-related causes, always double-checking first, of course, that their donations were tax-deductable. They invested in several companies that built ships for the Navy and computers for NASA. At Mrs. Howell's insistence, they overcharged less than other government contractors.

Mary Ann did so well as a talk show guest that "Good Morning, Florida" hired her to co-host. She dated the first mate of the _Minnow II, _and a year later, she and Gilligan were married.

They all lived happily ever after.

And on a different island, far, far away, a bottle languished in the sand.


	2. Gilligan's Jeannie (The Bottle)

**Part II: Gilligan's Genie**

"Boy, that was some storm last night," Gilligan said. He was a skinny, dark-haired man in his late twenties, although he looked and acted younger.

Jonas Grumby, the former captain of the _S.S. Minnow_, nodded. He was twice Gilligan's size, and more than twice his age. "Let's hope the storm washed something useful up on the shore. You go that way," he pointed, "and I'll go this way."

"Right, Skipper," Gilligan agreed. They headed in opposite directions.

Gilligan wandered along the beach for several minutes, keeping his eyes open for flotsam or jetsam that might have washed up on the beach. Nothing caught his eye but driftwood. Then he saw the sun sparkle on something in the sand. He hurried over and pulled out a glass bottle, half-buried in the sand.

"I wonder if there's a message in it." Gilligan grabbed the bottom of his red shirt and used it to rub some of the sand off the bottle. Then he pulled the cork out. He peeked into the bottle, hoping to see a message or root beer or something interesting.

Purple smoke began to waft from the bottle. Gilligan held it at arm's length. The smoke coalesced and formed into a female form: a very beautiful female form, a blonde clad in a pink and red harem costume.

"Oh, my gosh, you're a genie!" Gilligan exclaimed.

The genie knelt before him. She placed her hands before her, as though she were praying, and bowed low. She spoke in a dulcet voice and a respectful, almost reverent, tone. Gilligan couldn't understand a word she was saying, but it sounded beautiful.

"Gee, that must be Arabic or Persian," Gilligan guessed. "Or maybe Chaldean." He vaguely recollected mention of 'Ur of the Chaldees' from Sunday school, many years ago.

She rose gracefully to her feet, then rushed forward with gay abandon and embraced him. She kissed him once, twice, thrice. Although surprised, Gilligan did not protest her actions. Finally, he drew back, needing to catch his breath.

"Wow."

She spoke again, her words as sweet as birdsong and as incomprehensible to the sailor as Italian opera. She looked up at him expectantly.

Gilligan shook his head. "I'm sorry; I don't understand you."

She began babbling at him in Babylonian, or perhaps Mesopotamian, again.

"I wish I could understand you," Gilligan said.

"O my master, I am so grateful to thee for freeing me from the prison of my bottle. I shall serve thee all the days of thy life," she told him in Ancient Persian.

"Hey! You're speaking English," Gilligan marveled.

"No, master, thou art speaking Persian," she told him.

"Oh."

"Thou mayest ask anything of thy slave, master. Thy wish is my command," she assured him.

"Oh, no, you're not my slave," Gilligan told her.

The genie put her hands together again and bowed. "I am thy slave, master. Thou hast freed me from my bottle and I am thy genie."

"But slavery's illegal. I can't own you."

"Thou dost not want me?" She looked about to cry.

"Of course I want you. Any man would want a girl as beautiful as you, especially if she were a genie," Gilligan assured her. "Especially when she kisses like you do. I just can't own you."

The genie pouted prettily, obviously confused. The sea breeze blew across the lagoon, blowing her blonde hair.

"And you don't need to call me 'master.' My name's Gilligan. Just call me Gilligan."

"If that is thy wish, Gilligan," she replied hesitantly.

"What do I call you? Is it okay if I call you Jeannie?" Gilligan asked.

"Thou mayest call me whatever thou wishest, mas- Gilligan."

"Do I still get three wishes, even if I'm not your master?" he asked. "Well, two wishes. I used one so I could understand you."

"As many wishes as thou desirest," she assured him.

"I've got to take you to meet the others." Gilligan's face fell. "The Professor won't believe in you. He doesn't believe in magic. He doesn't even believe in black cats or four-leafed clovers. And Mr. Howell, he only believes in cold, hard cash." Gilligan thought hard and quickly. He wasn't sure how Mrs. Howell, Ginger, and Mary Ann would react to a genie, or if they'd believe she was real. He remembered seeing the play Peter Pan when he was younger. Tinker Bell would have died if children didn't believe in fairies. What would disbelief do to a genie?

He wasn't willing to take the risk.

"On second thought, maybe you'd better not meet them yet." Gilligan decided to keep her a secret, just to be on the safe side. "We're shipwrecked on this island. Can you get us home, Jeannie?"

"Of a certainty, mas- Gilligan," she corrected herself. "In the blink of an eye, I can transport thee and thy friends to Baghdad or Cairo or wherever pleaseth thee."

"That would be great!" Gilligan's face lit up with excitement, then fell again. "But if we just appear out of nowhere, then - "

"Hey, little buddy! Did you find anything -" The Skipper stopped short. He gave a wolf-whistle, then hurried forward to join Gilligan and Jeannie. "Gilligan, where'd she come from?" He took off his hat. "Very pleased to meet you, ma'am. Jonas Grumby, captain of the _Minnow._ But just call me Skipper, everybody does."

Jeannie put her hands together and bowed.

"Skipper, this is Jeannie. Jeannie, this is the Skipper. He's my best pal," Gilligan told her.

The Skipper looked at Gilligan, confused. "What gibberish are you babbling?"

Gilligan realized he had spoken in Persian. He concentrated and forced his mouth to speak English. "Sorry. Skipper, this is Jeannie. She's a genie. Jeannie, this is the Skipper. He's my best pal."

Jeannie spoke a sentence in Persian.

Gilligan translated for her. "She says she's honored to meet you."

"Well, tell her I'm honored, too."

Gilligan did so. Jeannie bowed again, not quite so deeply this time.

"A real, live genie, just like in The Arabian Nights," the Skipper marveled. "Do you realize what this means? We can go home! We're as good as rescued."

"Uh, one little problem." Gilligan explained his theory of what might happen to Jeannie if the Professor and the others didn't believe in her and his rationale.

"Gee, little buddy, you might be right. We wouldn't want anything to happen to this pretty little lady here." The Skipper scratched his head.

"Jeannie offered to just wish us home, but then everybody would want to know how we got there," Gilligan said. "They'd have questions we couldn't answer without telling them about her."

The Skipper nodded. Jeannie looked from one to the other, waiting for someone to speak in a civilized tongue.

"You could have her wish for a boat to come to the island, or for a plane to fly overhead," the Skipper suggested.

Gilligan thought a moment. "Better be a boat. She's been in her bottle a long time. She may not know what a plane is." The scrawny sailor turned to Jeannie. In Persian, he asked her, "Can you have whatever boat is nearest to our island change course and come here?"

"Yea, verily, master."

"Gilligan," he reminded her.

"Gilligan," she repeated dutifully. She folded her arms, bowed her head, and blinked. "The boat comes, but I know not how long it shall take them to reach thee."


	3. Gilligan's Jeannie (Russian Rescue)

The submarine surfaced in the lagoon. The hatch opened. Three sailors climbed out. They each inhaled deeply, appreciating the fresh air.

"Hot," the first sailor remarked.

"Feels good," the second said.

The third remarked, "It reminds me of Cuba."

"Do you think the captain will permit us to have a few days shore leave, or just gather bananas and coconuts and go back to sea?" the first sailor asked.

"A few days on the beach would be nice," the second sailor agreed, predicting, "and since it would be nice, the captain will not do it."

"What is the point of shore leave on the beach if there are no women in swimsuits?" the third retorted. "That is the best part of Cuba, beautiful suntanned ladies in bikinis."

"Attention!" the first sailor ordered. The other two drew themselves up straight and serious. He planted a metal rod with a small flag on it in the sand. "I claim this island in the name of our glorious Motherland!"

All three saluted.

"Our beloved _Rodina_!" yelled the other two. Without another word, they marched off into the jungle to look for mangoes, bananas, coconuts, or whatever fresh fruit the island might provide.

No sooner had they left then Thurston Howell III walked down the beach, holding hands with his wife, Eunice Wentworth Howell. They often took a constitutional together when they needed to get away from the peasants.

"Dear, did it seem to you that Gilligan was acting strangely?" Mrs. Howell asked. She wore a light blue dress with a floral pattern, and carried a parasol - also decorated with a floral pattern - to protect her complexion from the sun. A triple strand of pearls hung about her neck.

"Gilligan always acts strangely, Lovey." The millionaire was dressed as though he was planning to spend the afternoon at the yacht club: a red ascot, a white captain's hat, a dark blue jacket, a light blue shirt, and white trousers. His white shoes were made of Italian leather.

"And I could have sworn I heard him speaking Farsi. Why on Earth would the dear boy speak Farsi? And where would he have learned it?" the middle-aged society doyenne asked.

"Farsi?"

"You know, modern Persian. I used to have the Iranian ambassador's wife to tea, and what he was saying sounded just like her."

"Now, Lovey, where would Gilligan have learned Farsi? I very much doubt he's ever been to Iran," Mr. Howell pointed out.

"Well, he and the Skipper were both in the Navy before -"

"Great Caesar's ghost, is that someone's idea of a joke?" Mr. Howell interrupted his wife.

She looked to see what he was pointing at, and saw a small red flag on a metal rod. In the upper left corner of the flag were a yellow star and a yellow hammer and sickle.

"Communists! On our island?" Mr. Howell was outraged. "That flag is an insult to every red-blooded American."

Mrs. Howell turned her head to the left and saw something even more disturbing. "Dear."

"Capitalism is the heart's blood of America. Communism - communism is an attack on everything that makes our country great." He marched up to the flag and pulled the rod out of the sand.

"Dear." Mrs. Howell tried to get his attention.

"Who could have perpetrated such a sick joke? You don't suppose the Professor would have done something this distasteful, do you? " Mr. Howell asked as he threw the rod to the ground. "They do say academia is a hotbed of liberal - "

"Thurston!"

"Huh?" He turned to look at his wife, and then saw the sub behind her in the lagoon. Four sailors in the uniform of the Soviet Navy were coming out of the submarine. None looked happy at the disrespect he had shown to their flag.

* * *

Just as Gilligan and the Skipper had searched the beach for useful flotsam and jetsam after the storm, Mary Ann Summers and Ginger Grant were searching the jungle to see if the winds had knocked any bananas or coconuts down from the trees. As they searched, they came across three Russian sailors, Ilya Svletanov, Dmitri Ivanov, and Sasha Fadeyev, also looking for fresh fruit.

"Strangers!" Mary exclaimed. Her mother had always warned her to beware of strangers.

"Sailors!" Ginger corrected her. She didn't recognize the uniform, but she knew it came from some sort of navy. "Sailors mean boats. Boats mean we're rescued!"

"_Bozhe moi!" _Ilya exclaimed.

_ "_Women!" Dmitri and Sasha cried out (in Russian). They had been at sea a long time.

Ginger rushed up. She hugged and kissed the three men, one after another. After a second's hesitation, Mary Ann did likewise. However, she kissed them on the cheeks, not the lips.

"_ Bozhe moi!" _Sasha exclaimed.

"Well, _bozhe moi_ right back at you," Mary Ann said, having no idea she was taking the Lord's name in vain. "We are so glad to see you."

"The native women are very friendly," Dmitri declared.

"_Da_," Sasha agreed. "Better than Cuban _mujeres_."

The five started talking together and quickly discovered the language barrier. After a few minutes of "me Tarzan, you Jane," with some mangled mispronunciations, they managed to trade first names. Using sign language, the women got the men to follow them back to the castaways' camp.

"Professor! Skipper! Gilligan! We're rescued," Ginger called out.

"Look! Foreign sailors," Mary Ann pointed out. "This is Ilya, Dmitri, and Sasha."

Roy Hinkley, the high school science teacher nicknamed 'the Professor,' hurried out to greet the newcomers. Gilligan and the Skipper held back.

"Look at those uniforms," the Skipper said. "I think that's the Russian navy."

The Professor, having failed to communicate with the trio in English, tried French.

"Well," Gilligan shrugged. "I didn't wish for the nearest American ship, just the nearest ship."

Having no more success with French than English, the Professor attempted Latin.

Gilligan watched the Professor a minute, then asked the Skipper: "Do you speak Russian?"

The Skipper shook his head. "Just three words: _da_, _nyet_, and _tovarisch_." When Gilligan looked up at him with a puzzled expression, he explained, "Yes, no, and friend."

"Jeannie, I wish the Skipper and I could speak in Russian."

The genie was tucked away in Gilligan's pocket, as tiny as a pixy. She folded her arms, blinked, and _voila!_ Her master and his friend knew the language of Pushkin and Dostoyevsky.

Gilligan and the Skipper stepped forward, greeting the three in fluent - albeit somewhat accented - Russian. They introduced themselves and the Professor.

"We were shipwrecked here," the Skipper explained. "Do you s'pose your ship could either get us to Hawaii or else call the U. S. Coast Guard?"

"_Da, da_," Ilya agreed.

Mary Ann fetched out the remains of yesterday's banana cream pie and forced it on the three sailors. They ate heartily. They would have eaten anything given them by a pretty girl, but after months of navy cooking, the banana cream pie was ambrosia. All three had seconds, and would have had thirds, if they hadn't run out of pie.

"I didn't know you spoke Russian." The Professor was surprised at the Skipper's and Gilligan's linguistic ability.

"Well, you pick up a lot of things at sea," the Skipper told him.

* * *

The captain of the sub barked out a question in Russian. The chief engineer, the only man on board who spoke English, translated.

"You are capitalist bourgeois swine?"

"Capitalist, yes, bourgeois, never!" Mr. Howell protested indignantly.

Ilya, Sasha, and Dmitri, accompanied by the other castaways, marched onto the beach carrying bamboo baskets full of fruit.

"What is this?" the captain demanded.

"Castaways, Comrade Captain." Ilya drew himself up to attention. He switched the basket of bananas to his left hand and saluted.

In fluent Russian, the Skipper introduced himself and explained, "We're the survivors of the _Minnow_, shipwrecked here two years ago."

The captain frowned. If they had been here for two years, he could not claim this island in the name of the illustrious U. S. S. R.

"Could you radio the U. S. Coast Guard or the Navy, give them our coordinates?" the Skipper asked.

The captain's frown deepened. The U. S. Navy would not approve of a Soviet sub being in waters that they considered their territory. "We will not contact U. S. Navy. We will rescue you ourselves." The chief engineer and the Skipper both translated his words for the others.

"Oh, Thurston, we're finally rescued!" Mrs. Howell coo'd.

"Good Heavens, I never thought I'd be grateful to a Communist," Mr. Howell replied. "Adam Smith and Thomas Hutchinson must be turning over in their graves."

Ginger rushed up and kissed the captain. Mary Ann did likewise to the engineer.

The captain pushed Ginger away. "Decadent capitalistic wench!"

The engineer had no complaints about Mary Ann's decadent, immoral, capitalistic behavior. He kissed her back, grabbed Ginger when the captain pushed her away so she wouldn't fall, and kissed her, too.

"One hour to resupply," the captain decreed. "Fresh water and fresh fruit. Get only what you absolutely need; a submarine has no spare room for luggage."

Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, Gilligan and the Skipper refused to translate Ginger's and Mrs. Howell's protests at leaving their wardrobes behind.

* * *

"How long will it take to reach Hawaii?" the Skipper asked.

"Speed of this sub is classified," the captain told him.

The Skipper nodded. When he was in the U. S. Navy, he wouldn't have told a Russki sailor the time of day. He couldn't expect the sub's captain to be more forthcoming with him.

"Bridge is classified," the captain added. "Go wait in wardroom with others."

Jonas Grumby had spent too much of his life at sea to even think about disobeying a ship's captain; he went back to the officers' wardroom and joined the other castaways.

"What did the captain say?" Mr. Howell asked.

"He told me to get off the bridge." The Skipper sat down beside Gilligan.

"Did he at least say how long it would take us to get to Hawaii?" Mary Ann asked.

The Skipper shook his head. "It only took us a few hours to go from Hawaii to our island. I know a Russian boat won't be as strong or fast as an American boat, but I'm guessing we should be back to Hawaii by dinner time. Certainly before bedtime."

"Home," Mrs. Howell more breathed the word than said it aloud. "Civilization."

Her husband reached over and patted her hand. "Soon, Lovey, soon."


	4. Gilligan's Jeannie (Rescued & Rerescued)

Dinner was eaten on the sub, not in a restaurant in Honolulu. And it was borsht, which pleased the palates of none of the castaways.

When the night grew late, they were offered no bunks, but forced to sleep in the chairs in the wardroom. After some mutterings about the inferiority of Russian shipbuilding, they made the best of the situation and eventually fell asleep.

They awoke to a breakfast of kasha - and no sign of Hawaii. The steward who brought in seven bowls of buckwheat porridge, seven bananas, and seven cups of tea refused to answer any questions. When they tried to ask someone else, an armed guard at the door kept them from leaving the wardroom.

It wasn't until they were let out one at a time to visit the head that Gilligan was able to speak to Jeannie without the others overhearing.

"Jeannie, can you let me know when this boat gets close to an American ship?"

"How shall I tell an American ship from another ship, my master?" she asked.

"They'll speak English like we do, and the flag is really pretty: red and white stripes with a blue square in the left hand corner, and fifty stars across the blue square," he told.

"Shall I transport thee and thy companions to the nearest such ship, my master?"

"I told you, it's Gilligan," he reminded her. "No, don't wish us there. Just let me know when there's an American ship within ten miles."

"Thy wish is my command ... Gilligan."

* * *

They weren't in Hawaii by dinner. They weren't in Hawaii by bed time. They weren't in Hawaii by breakfast. Lunch time came and went - without them being fed or reaching Hawaii.

Needless to say, the rescued castaways were less than happy. They made their displeasure known. Loudly.

The XO came in. "You will be silent. Captain's orders."

The Skipper didn't bother translating his words to the others. "Why aren't we in Hawaii yet? We should have reached Honolulu hours ago, even if your men were rowing this garbage scow."

"Where is lunch?" Mr. Howell demanded, neither remembering nor caring that the XO didn't speak English.

"I hope," Mrs. Howell said, "that you aren't mistaking this for a proper cabin."

"The captain has complained about the noise. You will not raise your voices again." The XO turned and glared at the Skipper. "Tell them, and keep them in order." He hurried out of the wardroom.

"We're hungry," Gilligan called out after him in Russian.

* * *

Gilligan felt a tug on his shirt pocket. "Gilligan, the ship thou seekest is nigh."

"Thanks," he whispered. He tapped the Skipper's arm, to get his attention. He mouthed the words, "One of our ships is close."

The Skipper nodded and eased his way over to the bulkhead. He picked up a butter knife as he passed the dining room table and began tapping in Morse code.

A moment later the Professor's eyes widened. A former scoutmaster as well as a high school science teacher, he knew Morse code fluently. He automatically translated the taps in his head.

_SOS. American citizens prisoners on Russian sub. Survivors of the wreck of the _Minnow_. Any US vessel, please assist. SOS._

Two minutes later, the door was flung open. The captain began cursing in Russian. Two armed sailors accompanied him.

"You shouldn't say things like that in front of the ladies," Gilligan said.

The captain backhanded him. Gilligan fell against a chair. Jeannie clung tightly to the material of his pocket, lest she be spilled out and fall to the deck.

"You can't treat my little buddy like that," the Skipper protested. One of the guards raised his pistol and pointed it at the Skipper. The older man closed his mouth.

"Now, see here, my good man, what do you think you're doing?" Mr. Howell demanded.

"You signal American vessel. You tell lies about our ship," the captain accused. "If you wish to live until we reach Sakhalin, you will be silent."

"Sakhalin?" Gilligan repeated. He rubbed his jaw. Nothing was broken, but it hurt.

"What's Sakhalin?" Mary Ann asked.

"It's an island in the Sea of Japan," the Professor said quietly. "A Russian island."

"It's where this," the Skipper remembered there were ladies present, and didn't use the word he'd originally planned to say, "where the captain plans to take us instead of Hawaii."

"But he can't do that! Skipper, Gilligan, tell him he can't do that," Ginger insisted.

"The pen may be mightier than the sword, my dear, but the sword - or in this case, the guns - speak louder and stronger at any given moment," Mrs. Howell quoted Leonard Wibberley.

"You two, you come," the captain ordered. "No sailors, no Morse code."

The Skipper and Gilligan looked at the guns, then at each other. With grudging meekness, they followed the captain out of the wardroom.

The Professor hesitated a second, then picked up the butter knife and began tapping on the bulkhead. _SOS. SOS. Seven Americans prisoners on Russian sub headed for Sakhalin. Roy Hinkley. Thurston Howell. Eunice Howell. Ginger Grant. Mary Ann Summers. Jonas G-_

The door of the wardroom opened again. The Professor slipped the knife into his pants pocket.

"You dare disobey?" The captain was furious. "What_ublyudok_ sent that message?" He didn't care that no one in the wardroom could understand what he was saying. Given that he used words inappropriate to an officer and a gentleman, that was probably for the best.

"Captain to the bridge, please. Captain to the bridge," the words came over the PA system.

Swearing, the captain stormed out of the wardroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

On the bridge, the XO saluted. "Sir, we are being hailed by American vessel."

The Skipper and Gilligan exchanged pleased glances.

"Attention Russian submarine, this is the _U. S. S. Noa. _Please surface. We understand you have some American passengers on board."

Gilligan and the Skipper grinned. In his pocket, Jeannie danced for joy.

* * *

The seven castaways (and one shrunken genie) rejoiced to find themselves on board the _Noa. _The cookdished them up seven steaming hot plates of spaghetti. Junior officers vied for the chance to lend Ginger and Mary Ann (and the other castaways) a change of clothes. Ginger signed autographs for anyone who asked, and for some sailors who didn't.

"How long until we reach Pearl Harbor, sir?" the Skipper asked the captain.

"It'll take us about two days," he replied.

"Gee, I wish we could go faster," Gilligan said. "I can't wait to reach home."

Within his pocket, Jeannie folded her arms, nodded her head, and blinked. The destroyer began to pick up speed, just as the genie had commanded.

The next morning, the castaways had ice cream for breakfast. The engines, going faster than their designers had intended, had burnt out during the night. The _U. S. S Noa _ was dead in the water, broadcasting her own SOS. The crew and passengers had no choice but to eat the ice cream before it melted.

Gilligan whispered a word in Jeannie's ear. Two hours later, the _Queen Elizabeth II,_ on a world-wide cruise, came to the rescue of the _U. S. S. Noa._

* * *

"Mr. and Mrs. Howell, so good to see you again," the chief pursuer greeted them. "I'm very sorry, but your usual cabin is already booked."

"As long as we get to Hawaii, I'd be willing to travel in steerage," Mrs. Howell declared.

Her husband gasped in amazement. "Lovey, don't say such things."

"Unfortunately, we just left Hawaii," the captain of the cruise ship informed them. "Our next port of call is Tahiti."

"Tahiti!" the castaways repeated.

"Tahiti is quite civilized these days. We'll radio ahead that you're on board, and from Tahiti you can fly back to Hawaii," the captain told them. "Until then, please consider yourselves our guests."

"You take as long as you need to reach Tahiti," Gilligan said. "I've decided not to rush this rescue business."

* * *

The diminutive djinn stood at the porthole, looking out at the passengers.

"Jeannie, do you see the way those women are dressed?" Gilligan asked.

"Yes, Gilligan." Her blonde hair bounced as she nodded her head enthusiastically.

"I wish you had clothes like that."

An instant later, Jeannie was wearing in a green striped sundress.

"And I wish you were normal sized," Gilligan continued.

In the blink of an eye, she went from four inches tall to five foot four. She stood on the deck, next to the porthole, instead of actually standing in the rim of the porthole.

"Now you look like anyone else on board, only prettier," Gilligan declared. "And if the Professor and the others think you're an ordinary passenger on board, we don't need to correct them, do we?"

"Not if it is not thy wish, my m- , Gilligan," she agreed tentatively.

He held out his arm to her. "Then would you join me for a stroll on the Lido deck?"

"It would be my pleasure."

"Oh, and I wish you could speak English," Gilligan added as an afterthought.

Ten minutes later, Mr. Howell looked up from his mint julep. "Who is that ravishing creature that Gilligan is squiring about?"

Mrs. Howell looked up from her magazine. After two years on a deserted island, it was a blessing to read something that was only a week old. "I don't know, dear. She is lovely, isn't she?"

"She reminds me of you in your younger days." Mr. Howell leaved over from his deck chair and kissed his wife. She blushed and kissed him back, and they forgot all about Gilligan and Jeannie.

However, over the course of the next few days, they saw the pair of them together several times: splashing in the pool, playing shuffleboard, leaning on the railing as Gilligan pointed out a pod of dolphins to her, sitting next to the bar sipping Shirley Temples.

* * *

"I wish you were a regular girl," Gilligan said. They were up by the bow, looking at the moonlight reflecting on the water.

"Are you sure you wish to make that wish? If you do, I will become human, permanently. If you change your mind, I can't become a genie again, and you won't have any more wishes ever again." Left unspoken was that she would grow old and die, as mortals did.

"I guess that's not an official wish," Gilligan conceded. "Just if you were a regular girl, we could have picnics on the beach together, or I could take you to the movies or go dancing."

"You want me to be a regular girl so we can be together?" she asked.

He nodded. She reached up, held him tight, and kissed him. He did not object, not in the slightest.

"Jeannie, I think I love you. "

She kissed him again. "If that is truly thy wish, then I will be happy to become mortal for thy sake."

Gilligan thought a moment. "It might be best if you wait ' til we reach shore ... just in case. We've had a little trouble with this rescue business."

Jeannie nodded. Her master was not only handsome but wise."Since all wishes will end when we reach shore, have you any other wishes, whilst you still may?"

"Yeah, the Skipper is my best friend. I wish the Skipper could be as happy as I am." There was a cool breeze coming over the bow. He wrapped his arm around her to keep her warm.

She snuggled contentedly into his embrace. "Happiness cannot be weighed or measured, but ... I might be able to do something."

* * *

When the QE II docked at Tahiti, dozens of reporters were waiting to meet them. The Skipper wolf-whistled at one of the women, an attractive redhead in her late forties. "She's gorgeous. Think I could interest her in an exclusive interview?"

"Mom!" Ginger cried out. "That's not a reporter." She turned to Mary Ann and hugged her. "That's my mother!" She jumped and waved. "Mom!"

"Your mother?" the Skipper asked. "Well, no wonder she's so pretty. Runs in the family."

That afternoon and evening were busily chaotic and chaotically busy. Reporters demanding interviews. Reunions between Ginger and her mother and the Howells and their accountants and attorneys. Dinner with the American ambassador. The Skipper sat on one side of Mrs. Grant at dinner, and Ginger sat on her other side. The next day was more of the same, except they were the dinner guests of the mayor of Papeete. Again, the Skipper and Ginger sat on either side of her mother. Finally, though, they all flew back to Hawaii.

From Honolulu, the Howells returned to New York, to recuperate from their ordeal at their mansion in the Hamptons. Mary Ann went home to Kansas. The Professor was offered a position at CalSci, the prestigious California Institute of Science, and thus became a professor in fact as well as in name. Ginger returned to Hollywood, but only briefly. Two months later, she returned to Hawaii, to star in a new TV show, _Jungle Queen,_ being filmed on location. Her mother came with her. Six months later, there was a double wedding as the Skipper married Ginger's mother and Gilligan married Jeannie. Except for weekend fishing trips, the Skipper and Gilligan did not take to sea again; their wives forbid it, considering it too dangerous. Instead, they opened The Skipper's Seafood and Shawarma Saloon. Their restaurant had the coldest beer, the freshest fish, and the best Mideastern food in Honolulu. The restaurant critics were unanimous in their opinion that the kitchen produced culinary magic.

They all lived happily ever after.

As did astronaut Tony Nelson, eventually, after he spent three uncomfortable days on a deserted island, because the ship that was supposed to pick him up had been diverted to aid the _U. S. S. Noa, _which was suffering from a mysterious engine failure.

The End


End file.
